


Healing

by xenachakram12



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 06, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenachakram12/pseuds/xenachakram12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Spike doesn’t make it to the Magic Box in Entropy, but instead finds something much better than mere solace?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

Spike was in agony. The Slayer had really done him good this time, but he wasn’t gonna let that self-righteous bitch turn him into a soppy sod; he already had one of those in his bloodline and that’s bloody well one-too-many. He was on his way to the Magic Box, looking for a spell or something--something to give just a little relief, when he saw her. The Bit, walking outside after dark. Alone.

“Well, well,” he said as he strode over to meet her. “Looking to be some lucky vamp’s appetizer or just some demon’s virgin sacrifice?”

Dawn was startled. She hadn’t even been surveying her surroundings. What is she doing, trying to get herself killed?!

“Leave me alone, Spike. Please,” she said as she scrubbed her face. She smelled of salt and anguish.

Concerned now, Spike approached the girl, holding his hand out to bring her to him. “What’s wrong, Little Bit?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” It was obviously not “nothing”, but she wasn’t ready to talk.

Spike looked longingly to the Magic Box not far in the distance, and mourned the relief that would, for tonight, evade him. Sighing and turning back to the tear-stained face of this girl he’d sworn to protect, he offered, “Why don’t we go to my crypt and talk about it, yeah?” She didn’t respond, but when he ushered her away she didn’t resist.

Upon entering the crypt, Dawn sat down, still sniffing while Spike began lighting some candles. Something about this reminded him of the night he told Dawn “ghost” stories. Her eyes had sparkled with delight, even when he recounted the most detestable of his deeds. He had enjoyed her company, until Buff… her sister had come to retrieve her. His focus had completely shifted from the young, enraptured girl to the hard yet luminous woman. Whenever She was in the room, he noticed nothing, no one else, sometimes to the point of neglect. He’d been such a fool.

Dawn wasn’t crying, just looking down at her hands as she nervously fondled something… a tissue? Spike went to her, and sat down. He wasn’t sure what was wrong or what to say.

“So… tell me who did this so I can go kill them,” he said nonchalantly. Dawn met his eyes now, before raising an eyebrow in his own style. He grinned, explaining, “Well, I might not be able to do it myself, but I know a guy.” She smiled reluctantly. Triumph.

“It’s just…” Dawn started before trailing off. Spike moved his head closer slightly, encouraging her to continue. “…this boy…. It doesn’t matter.”

“Some boy done you wrong? Did ‘e hurt you?! I’ll tear ‘is arms off if ‘e hurt you!” Spike launched himself off the couch, breaking out into full-on pace. He was seething, imagining disembowelings that would make Angelus cry. He continued, letting his mind do things his body could not, until he heard… a laugh. Dawn had laughed.

“Spike! Come sit down.” He was hesitant, but he did. “He didn’t hurt me hurt me, just my feelings. That guy’s such a prick.” She pouted, and Spike couldn’t help but notice how pretty it was.

“Damn. Are you sure, ‘cause I got some great ideas…”

She laughed again, and Spike felt something inside him soften. He laughed, too.

The two of them spent hours talking. Dawn caught Spike up on the drama that is the ninth grade and Spike caught Dawn up on all the soaps she missed while at school. They simply sat, enjoying each other until the long hours of the night.

By the time the candles began to burn out, it was very late; Dawn needed to get home before… She noticed and got worried. When Dawn stood up to go, so did Spike.

“I’ll walk you home. All kinds o’ nasties out there looking to get a taste o’ you.” Spike kept the tone light, but hated seeing her go.

Dawn nodded slowly, before looking up into Spike’s eyes and stepping closer to him. She put her hand on his forearm, before slowly sliding it up and under the arm of his standard black tee. She looked up at him with blue, trusting eyes. “Spike,” she hesitated, “I know I should, but I don’t wanna go.”

His mind raced. Was his Nibblet coming on to him? He had soaked up this time with her, etched it in his mind for use on another cold night. What he wouldn’t give to actually have that warmth: to hold it, to pull it into himself; he was so tired of the cold. But he couldn’t. She was too young, and Buffy… He would never be forgiven. He was going to push her away and shoo her on home, until her soft, sweet voice floated up and into his ear. “Please…” Her voice was quiet; airy. Then she whispered his name, shy but pleading. Asking for something.

He couldn’t help it; he wanted this. He needed something to soothe the dull ache in his chest, even for a few minutes. And she was so good, and sweet, and innocent; he’d missed her company, her adoration… her friendship. It, like so many other things, had gotten lost in the storm that was loving Buffy. He knew he shouldn’t, but he needed something soft to pour himself into and Dawn was like a dream come true.

Without warning, Spike lifted Dawn and searingly kissed her. She pulled her hand from his sleeve and tightened her long, slim arms around him. He consumed her, wanting to taste all her sweetness and keep it for himself. Finally, he let her go to catch her breath, and she looked him very seriously in the eye. She spun him slightly and pushed him down onto the couch he’d salvaged from the dump only a few days before. He sat waiting, marveling at how she seemed to know exactly what she wanted. He drank her in: long, smooth hair, swollen lips, budding breasts cleverly hidden beneath a white cotton button-down. He continued to survey her, her long legs leading down to now bare feet and leading up to a short, pleated skirt. She was every man’s Catholic school girl fantasy, except she was real and she was for him.

She crawled into his lap and sat on his knees. She began touching him: his crisp hair, his scarred brow, the high cheekbones and the hollow beneath them. She explored him, discovering what a man feels like. She watched her own hands and Spike watched her; he would flex the muscles as she caressed them and her eyes would twinkle. Occasionally she would look at his face and smile, as if to remind herself that he was still with her.

It wasn’t long before Dawn’s breath became more hurried, more heated. Touching was no longer enough; she was grabbing, grasping, groping, until Spike began breathing, too. Spike began feeling her now, touching her bare skin only where clothing allowed: her thighs, the inside of her arms, her neck. She reached down unexpectedly to undo his fly. She pulled him out, already erect and weeping for her. He groaned at her boldness.

Spike reached up under Dawn’s skirt to touch her and tease her, but found the barrier of cotton panties instead. With one hand, he gripped them and tore them from her body, causing her to gasp and shudder. Spike began touching her—first her inner thigh, then lightly over lips and clit—not enough to stimulate, only to feed her desperation.

As he was about to insert one finger into her, she grasped his hand and moved it slowly away. Their eyes met, and he wanted to grab her, to plunge into her. He knew he should do this right: take her downstairs to the bed, undress her, kiss her all over, shower her with attention, but he couldn’t. He needed this now. He was too aroused and too devastated to wait. He was about to grab her, to take her when she put one hand on each of his shoulders and began to shift her weight onto them, lifting her body and spreading her legs.

She slid down onto him breathtakingly, agonizingly slowly. Spike was awe-stricken; he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gritted his teeth to control himself, before opening them again and casting a glance up to her face. He was surprised by what he saw: Dawn was watching him. She wasn’t shy or nervous or uncomfortable, just new and hopeful. She licked her lips before slightly parting them and then Spike noticed he was licking his lips, too. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure who he was doing this for anymore, himself or her.

It took a couple of minutes before she was able to take all of him, and he watched her, now entranced and mouth agape, until she rested herself against his legs, accepting him fully. She halted for a moment before starting to move—just a slight adjustment, but it caused a moany sigh to escape from her lips. Like from the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, Spike became aware again and felt a terrible need. He started to move his hips, slowly and gently at first, just rocking. Dawn hummed her appreciation, moving herself, unknowingly but not inefficiently meeting Spike’s movements.

Spike took more control, holding her hips and began lifting her and angling her, working for his own release. Dawn stilled however, and then gasped, but not from pleasure. He’d hurt her. She was new to this, and she wasn’t like… He stopped quickly, and reined in his lust, still holding her to him. Their eyes met, Dawn’s frightened but Spike’s softened. He reached up and touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, so gently and so momentarily it was like a ghost’s touch. “’S ok, pet… Nibblet,” he said as he settled both of his hands onto her thighs, waiting.

Reassured, Dawn started moving, slowly at first, but then more boldly. Spike shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the back of the couch. Dawn was so soft, so warm, but she was breakable, human. She couldn’t give him the same kind of pleasure as…his other more supernatural partners, but this was something new: she was actually there. She wasn’t playing a game, or keeping herself warm for Daddy, nor was she loathing herself or trying to escape. It was her. With him. Willingly and without regret. Spike found himself smiling slightly and pawing Dawn’s silky thighs like a cat in the sun.

Spike just felt for a while, until Dawn’s moans and jerky movements indicated her coming orgasm. He watched her, stroking her arms, hair, stomach as she rode him, her channel clenching and trembling rhythmically as she finally climaxed. Sound bubbled from her throat as she gripped his arms, and Spike’s lust returned full-force. Before she had even come down, Spike slipped his hands under Dawn’s buttocks, lifting her and then laying her out on the couch beside them. Still mewling with pleasure, Spike began thrusting into her, deep thrusts, almost pulling himself out before pushing in again. He wanted to feel her, to know her. Holding himself up with one hand, he let his free hand roam, feeling her swollen breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt, her soft stomach as it trembled, her hair slightly mussed with sweat. He looked into her face, contorted with pleasure, and he realized that he was really here, too. He had begun this to ease his pain, to forget for a moment his feeling of loss. He had never expected to find this: this warmth and comfort… and friendship. Spike thrust one last time before spilling himself with a breathy sigh into the beautiful girl. It felt like relief; like the ecstasy of letting go, and as he panted for unnecessary air, he gathered his friend up into his arms and held her tight.

“Geez, Spike… clingy much?” Dawn joked, but when Spike pulled away enough to see her shy, vulnerable half-smile, he knew she was just teasing. His eyes scanned her face, taking her in before kissing her matter-of-factly on the mouth. He didn’t know what this had meant to her, but to him, it meant healing. He only hoped she had gotten as much from it as he had.


End file.
